Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 26

Thanks as always to Emma Kendrick for sharing her thoughts on the story!

"Are you ready to pray?"

Gwennalyn nodded, biting her lip.

Deiara smiled, brandishing the statuette of Irezis, the orc goddess of fertility and sexuality.

A twist of the base unlocked a secret inner portion. The handmaiden slid out a thick phallus, the perfect facsimile of an orc cock.

The princess strained mindlessly at the sight, pulling against the ropes tying her hands to the bed frame.

"So desperate," the handmaiden purred, running the tip of the phallus along the princess' calf.

"It's been too long, Deiara..."

"It's only been a week."

"The longest week of my life."

The handmaiden could not help a slight swell of pity.

To think she was getting fucked constantly in Coronhar and now has to survive by spying on me getting fucked.

The various paramours the handmaiden took into her chambers were unaware of the princess' presence. But soon after those paramours left, the princess would come forth to clean up the handmaiden, eagerly lapping up the fresh loads leaking from the older woman like a kitten starved for milk. Such involvement was the most she could risk on a regular basis.

A whine brought the handmaiden's attention back to her princess.

"Relax," she cooed, letting the phallus reach the younger woman's soaked slit, rubbing the tip over the drenched folds.

The whine became a needy moan.

Deiara let her other hand slip over the princess' breasts. Two fingers captured a stiff, aching nipple, tweaking, rubbing, rolling. The princess stared down at her with pleading eyes.

That hand slid up past those pitiful breasts, reaching the princess' neck. A squeeze cut off her breath. The princess gasped softly, her tongue peeking out to play over her lips.

Deiara shoved the phallus through her soaked slit, letting more than half barrel into the accommodating channel beyond. The sudden impalement made the princess buck hard, her head pressing into the pillows, her ass lifting off the bed. Her cry was cut off by the hand around her throat, spilling out instead as a choked yip.

"You want more?" the handmaiden teased, pulling the phallus back, squeezing at her throat.

The princess managed to nod.

Deiara eased up on her throat to let her speak.

"Please...I need every inch...my cunt needs to be stretched out..."

Deiara frowned dramatically, and pulled the phallus all the way out, ignoring the squawk of despair that followed from the other woman.

"I think it's plenty stretched out after all the orc cocks you took. I'd be surprised if it ever goes back to normal."

"Please, oh please, Deiara...make me ache with it, please...I need to ache, it's been too long..."

Another swell of pity came over the handmaiden.

Poor girl...

She shoved the phallus back inside, driving it deep until the base slotted against those stretched lips.

The princess cried out, tugging on her bindings.

Deiara started a steady rhythm, guiding the phallus deep into that soaked cunt. Her free hand slipped back to those breasts, and further down, groping all over the princess. Gwennalyn moaned weakly, her hips doing their best to grind against the phallus. The handmaiden answered that effort by summoning more force. Her free hand returned to the princess' throat, squeezing harshly, fingernails digging into that fragile flesh.

"Are you going to cum?" she asked.

Again, Gwennalyn managed a nod.

Deiara purred, keeping up the punishing thrusts and the squeezing at her throat.

A half-gurgle, half-grunt soon spilled through gasping lips. The princess jerked, eyes fluttering in their sockets, juices flowing steadily from her stretched slit. The orgasm washed over her slim figure, adding a lurid glow to that pale swath. The handmaiden let up at her throat, returning that hand to those meager breasts, groping and testing there, her other hand finally slowing the pumping shaft.

"Praise Irezis," the princess purred breathlessly.

"I think I deserve some credit," the handmaiden drawled.

She slid the phallus out, the thick shaft smeared with creamy juices, and licked up a sticky stream.

"Delicious..."

The princess gazed at the phallus.

The handmaiden laughed at that obvious desire, and brought it to her lips.

"Have a taste."

When she took the phallus away after a few licks, the princess whined. That plaintive desperation was replaced by meek excitement when she rubbed it along those drenched folds.

"Aw, you want it back inside you?"

The princess nodded, straining against her bindings.

"Okay then, you can have it back inside you."

The handmaiden moved up, and swung a leg over the princess' head, straddling her mouth.

"But first..."

A questing tongue quickly slid forth, meeting her slick folds, sending a shiver over her.

"Good girl."

The princess moaned at the praise, licking eagerly.

A knock came at the door to the princess' chambers.

Right when I'm about to get mine. Of course.

She eased herself off the princess. The plaintive desperation from earlier resurfaced.

"Someone knocked," she said, pulling her gown on and smoothing it out. "I'll be right back."

The princess whimpered.

"And be quiet. Unless you want whoever that is to find you tied up in here."

The princess nodded apologetically.

Deiara shook her head in bemusement on her way to the door.

It falls to me now to entertain her lustful urges. But I won't complain too much...

Another knock came.

"One moment please!" she called out, padding up to the door and pulling it open.

"Good afternoon," the woman waiting there said.

Deiara eyed the weathered wrinkles on her face and the long, rectangular box under her arm.

"Good afternoon."

"Bethany Brace," the woman introduced herself. "The royal fashioner. I'm here to call upon the princess."

"Ah, yes."

The princess is tied up right now. Literally.

"She's having an afternoon soak. I'll go inform her."

Bethany nodded.

The handmaiden padded back into the bedroom and began untying the princess. The resultant whine made her laugh.

"It's the royal fashioner. Find out what she wants and we can get back to this."

The princess pouted, but quickly dressed once she was freed, and followed Deiara into the sitting room.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Good afternoon, Princess," Bethany said, curtsying.

You have the worst timing.

"Good afternoon," Gwennalyn replied, matching the curtsy. "Might I ask what my father sent you for?"

Bethany nodded.

"Wedding planning. I was to make your dress. As I did for your sisters and mother."

Ugh. Wedding planning.

"Ah, yes! Those beautiful dresses of theirs. I suppose you wish to measure me to start the process?"

Bethany cocked her head and brandished the box.

"No, Princess, the dress is finished."

...what?

Bethany placed the box on the table, lifted the top, and carefully took out a long, shimmery, white dress, a majestic eagle standing out in studded pearls on the back.

"Well, not entirely finished. I used a few of your dresses as references, but it's possible I missed an inch here or there. If you try it on, I will know for sure."

Huh.

"You are quite swift. My wedding is months from now."

Bethany cocked her head again.

"Your father had me work with haste," she replied uncertainly. "As if the wedding is to be sooner."

That can't be right.

Gwennalyn smiled.

"So, you need me to try on the dress?"

"Yes," Bethany said, a slight relief in her voice. "It shouldn't take long."

Gwennalyn hesitated and glanced over at Deiara.

Over her time spent with the orcs in Coronhar, the princess had grown used to not wearing a corset or panties, to offer easy access to anyone looking to avail themselves of her body. And although she knew that back here in Crownhold such naughtiness would be unwise, it was a difficult habit to break.

"I must admit," she began sheepishly, "that I hurried to dress so as to not keep you waiting. Had I been inclined to keep you waiting, I would have fully dressed."

Understanding dawned in Bethany's eyes.

"Ah, of course. I'll wait outside."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gwennalyn strode down the corridor, heart beating quickly from a surge of nervousness.

My wedding is months away. Or at least it should be.

The royal fashioner had been painstakingly thorough, unaware the entire time she had spent measuring, marking, and annotating, that the princess' thoughts were jumbled and frantic.

It's a shame. The dress was quite beautiful.

Sir Benjifer stood at attention outside her father's office, his oiled beard interrupted by a small slash running across his chin.

"Afternoon, Princess," he said, bowing his head.

"Sir Benjifer," she reciprocated, curtsying. "I'm here to see my father."

He nodded, and rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Enter!" her father called from inside.

The guard opened the door, letting her slip inside.

"Ah, Gwennalyn!" he greeted her cheerily, looking up from his ornate desk, strewn with papers and quills.

"Afternoon, Father," she again reciprocated, not quite as cheerily.

"How did it go with Bethany?"

"Well," she began, sitting down and smoothing out her dress, "that's what I came to talk to you about."

He frowned slightly.

She swallowed nervously, smoothing out her dress again.

"Father, I...was under the impression the wedding wouldn't be until some time after I returned from Coronhar. But Bethany made it seem as if it were to be sooner."

He nodded.

"Your wedding is only weeks away. What would give you any other impression?"

Fuck.

"I told you I didn't want to plan the wedding without Lucien present. And he was away on the expedition. Remember? When you agreed to let me stay in Coronhar?"

He nodded again.

"Of course I remember."

"So, then why is the wedding scheduled for so soon? Lucien and I haven't planned anything."

"We planned everything. Your mother and I along with his parents. All the details have been taken care of."

She slumped back in the chair.

"And Lucien and I weren't to be consulted?"

He shrugged.

"I wasn't consulted much in my wedding, nor was your mother, neither were your sisters in theirs."

"And there's no possible way to delay the wedding?"

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

"Why would you want to delay the wedding?"

She bit back a sigh.

I may as well come out with it.

"Father..."

He stared at her, eyebrows quirked.

"I don't want to marry Lucien."

He blinked in surprise a few times.

"He's a good man," she continued," and he would make a fine husband for most wives. But I don't want to marry him."

Her father laughed, the sound of relief and amusement.

"Is that all?"

She nodded.

"Yes...I don't want to marry him."

He laughed again, shaking his head.

"Do you think you're the only bride-to-be to ever say such a thing? Your mother was hesitant about me, as was Avalyn about Arister. It's quite natural if you don't know the person well, but it'll fade once you're married, trust me."

She stared in disbelief.

"But...Father..."

"It'll be alright, Gwennalyn. As you said, he's a good man and would make a fine husband. I thought you were taking time to get to know each other in Coronhar, but there will still be plenty of time for that anyway."

Fuck.

He picked up a quill and glanced back down to the papers on his desk.

"Father, I don't want to marry Lucien," she said, trying to add firmness to her voice.

He chuckled softly, not even deigning to look up.

"It'll be alright, he's a good match for you."

"Father!"

He glanced up at her, the amusement fading.

"I don't want to marry him," she said tersely, letting her frustration color her voice. "It won't be alright, and it won't fade."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Watch your tone, daughter."

"I don't want to marry him," she repeated, this time a bit softer.

He bit back his own sigh.

"It's your duty," he said simply. "You're to marry him and have children."

If he were an orc, I'd be happy about that...

She ignored the thought and set her jaw.

"I don't want to marry him."

"Gods be good," he growled. "What has come upon you?"

"I never wanted to marry him," she said, staring him straight in the eyes. "Not from the beginning."

He stared back, and then shrugged.

"That doesn't matter. It's your duty. We all have responsibilities. This is yours."

"He doesn't want to marry me either."

The words slipped out, but her voice did not waver.

He narrowed his eyes again.

"And you know this how?"

"Because he told me. We've discussed it. We don't want to marry each other."

He shrugged again, glancing back down to his papers.

"You will both do your duty, as countless husbands and wives have before you."

She glowered at him, but he ignored her.

I will not get through to him like this...

A few theatrical sniffs captured his attention. She wiped pointedly at her eyes.

"Daughter," he began, putting his quill down. "You don't need to cry."

"You don't understand," she said, making sure her voice wavered just enough to convey her desperation.

"Don't understand what?"

"Please, Father," she continued, adding a few more sniffs, leaning forward in supplication.

He eyed her hesitantly.

"Show me mercy, Father. I don't want to marry him. There's no love between us."

"Love will grow," he countered gently. "As it did between your mother and I."

Think of Snowflake.

"No, it won't," she said miserably, a few tears starting to rise at the thought of her pet rabbit from childhood, tragically trampled by a spooked horse after escaping its cage.

"You don't know that. It takes work, and patience, but it will be worth it."

She let herself sob lightly.

"Father, why continue with the match if neither of us wishes it to continue?"

He rose from his chair and came around to crouch at her side. One his hands landed gently on her shoulder. Another brushed some wayward hair from her cheek.

"There is no need to cry, Gwennalyn."

She let her lower lip tremble, a few tears squeezing out.

"It might not be exactly what you dreamt of when you were a little girl, but you will make a wonderful life with Lucien."

She shook her head.

"Please," she began in her most pitiful tone, "I beg you to show us mercy."

"You keep saying mercy" he commented, scoffing lightly. "Is the thought of marrying him such torture?"

"He feels the same way," she told him, feeling tears start to dribble down her cheeks. "He has told me so himself."

He sighed, and stood.

"I know it's my duty to marry, Father. But Lucien and I would not be fit as husband and wife. It would be a poor match for him and for me. We learned this in Coronhar."

While we were getting our brains fucked out by orcs.

He strode to the door and opened it. Sir Benjifer turned, his face neutral.

"Go fetch Lucien for me."

The knight nodded, and quickly headed down the hall, his armor clanking lightly.

Her father sat back down with a huff, his attention returning promptly to the letters on his desk. The scratching of his quill was loud in the stillness of the room.

Lucien had better follow my lead on this. If he doesn't, I don't know what else to do.

She smoothed out her gown, sneaking a peek at her father, noticing the rigid set of his jaw. His eyes refused to move from the parchment.

What will it take for you to dissolve this marriage?

Gwennalyn sat patiently, occasionally sneaking more peeks at him. For his part, he did not drag his attention from the letters, his jaw barely relaxing in its stiffness. She conjured up more sad memories, keeping them close in mind for the quick summoning of tears.

I could just think about the possibility of never having orc cock again...but then I might actually bawl my eyes out.

A rap at the door soon broke the silence.

"Enter."

Sir Benjifer ushered Lucien inside. Mild confusion sprung up on the latter's face when he saw her, but he quickly recovered, offering a respectful bow to her father. The door closed behind him. Her father looked up and gestured at the chair next to her.

"My daughter tells me she does not wish to wed you. She says it would be a poor match."

Lucien frowned slightly.

"She also says you feel the same way. Is this the truth?"

He shifted in his chair.

"Your Majesty, the princess would make a wonderful wife."

Come on, Lucien...

"The truth now," her father pressed.

"But not for me, I fear," Lucien finished. "We would indeed make a poor match."

Thank you.

Her father slumped back in his chair, scratching at his beard.

"Many matches have seemed poor at first," he finally countered.

"I cannot speak for those many matches," Lucien said neutrally. "Only this one."

Her father eyed him, and then glanced over at her.

"You are working well together now."

"Our aim is the same," Lucien cut in softly.

"To win my mercy?"

"I would not call it mercy. Merely a second judgment. I would not dare to place mine above yours or my father's, but I imagine there are many better matches that are available."

"We had thought to to finally marry our families," her father told him.

"And you still can. My sister Veruca remains unmarried, as do your sons."

She glanced over to him.

I'm sorry I ever doubted you.

Her father shook his head.

"But to call off a royal wedding? That's unheard of."

He glanced over to the window, a slight frown forming on his brows.

Gwennalyn snuck a peek at Lucien, waiting for a response. The peek did not go unnoticed, but he only held up a furtive hand to pacify her restlessness.

"And what would I tell the kingdom?" her father continued, turning his gaze back to them.

"What does that matter?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He shook his head again.

"People would have questions."

"It's our wedding," she shot back, gesturing to herself and Lucien. "What do their questions matter?"

"Because how would I answer? My daughter and her betrothed decided they were a poor match? I would appear a weak father and king."

"You could simply say that you decided we were a poor match," Lucien cut in politely. "Perhaps after seeing us spend time together."

"There have been many poor matches in the history of matches. A poor match does not necessitate the calling-off of a wedding, let alone a royal one."

Gods be good. What will it take?

"You would rather have a miserable daughter than appear a weak king?" she asked, doing her best to add sadness to her voice.

"I would," he answered without hesitation. "I am father to you but king to many, many more."

Grrr...

"But you would not appear a weak king," Lucien cut in again, with the same deftness. "We would tell anyone who asked that it was your decision. Since, after all, it is."

She nodded eagerly.

Her father eyed them both again.

"Are you truly sure you don't wish to marry? You'd make a formidable pair."

"Only in this," she answered simply.

He sighed deeply, again glancing at the window.

Please...Kulzis, Irezis, Nakgoro, all of the orcish pantheon and whichever of our boring gods can hear me...please...

"I was not alone in conceiving this marriage," he finally spoke up, gesturing to Lucien. "I will need to speak to your father about this."

"You are the king," she told him. "It only needs to be your decision."

He pursed his lip.

"Yes, thank you for the reminder," he said with a slight sharpness. "But Lucas is my friend, and I will not make this decision without speaking with him."